


Kiss at the End of the Tundra

by nightingaelic



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alchemy, Developing Relationship, Dominance, F/F, Light Bondage, Long-Distance Relationship, Lust, Motherhood, Parenthood, Responsibility, Romance, Storms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightingaelic/pseuds/nightingaelic
Summary: They told you that one day you'd fall in love with someone tall, dark and handsome. They didn't specify that it would be a woman with a talent for alchemy and a pair of warm, golden eyes. And no one said anything about this woman being the legendary Dovahkiin.





	1. Morndas, 18th of Last Seed

The first day she saw the stranger started like any other. Carlotta awoke early, tiptoeing downstairs so as not to wake her daughter. She stoked the fire and stirred the stew she had left warm in the ashes the night before, bringing the savory mix of broth, cabbage and potatoes back to life. After ladling out two bowls she stole into Mila’s room and roused her gently.

The little girl yawned, stretched, and rolled over. “Five more minutes, mama,” she pleaded.

“Come on, Mila,” Carlotta said with a smile. “I’m going to get dressed, and you’d better be up by the time I come back downstairs.”

Mila groaned and pulled the blankets over her head. Carlotta left her like that and climbed back up to her loft, where she donned her usual linen dress and merchant’s apron. She pulled on her worn leather boots, listening to her daughter below twisting in her blankets before leaving her warm nest for breakfast.

The two ate together quietly, sipping their soup. Outside the window, clouds loomed tall and gray on the horizon.

“Mama, can we get a dog?” Mila asked.

Carlotta sighed. “Not before we get chickens,” she replied.

 

* * *

 

The morning skies over Whiterun brought warm rain, and Carlotta was thankful for the awning over her little produce stand. She and the other street merchants huddled in their small shelters, while Mila and the other children ran about in the puddles, splashing each other and laughing.

The sky cleared over the noon hour, and Carlotta sent her daughter home to change into dry clothes, instructing her to bring two more baskets of potatoes back to the stand. She was just wondering what had happened to the girl to keep her so long when the stranger stepped into the square.

Strangers were a common sight in the city, as the hold’s capital and the center of trade in Skyrim. But not strangers like this. The Redguard woman was drenched and winded, as if she had run clear across Tamriel, and she had a haggard look on her face Carlotta had only seen on soldiers returning from the horrors of war.

The woman leaned, winded, against a wooden column attached to Belethor’s General Goods, taking in great, gulping breaths. She pushed her thick, Hammerfell-styled locks out of her eyes and turned her face to the sky, drinking in the humid air. Her eyes caught the light, and their amber color glittered in the afternoon sun.

Carlotta’s eyes traveled over her gear. She was clad lightly in leather armor, bracers and boots, and a simple knapsack hung on her back, squashed against the wooden post with a quiver of arrows and an unstrung hunting bow. In the woman’s right hand was a heavy steel battleaxe, the two-headed blade etched in the traditional Nordic knots and swirls. Yellow leather encircled the axe’s long handle, betraying its creator. Only Alvor of Riverwood worked in leather colored with garlic skins and frost mirriam.

All about the woman’s body were strung plants and fungi, threaded with care by type and color. Red, blue and purple mountain flowers and fly amanita mushrooms hung drying across her chest, and a braid of garlic dangled with elves ear leaves from her belt.

An alchemist, Carlotta surmised. Or an adventurous cook. She straightened a few tomatoes in the crate next to her and turned the salt jar on her left so that the label was plainly facing out.

The stranger’s amber eyes caught the movement, and she fixed her golden gaze on Carlotta and her stand. A beat later and she was in front of her stand, leaning on the wooden counter.

“I’m on my way to Dragonsreach,” the woman said, her voice low and warm despite the fearful exhaustion in her eyes. “The path split, down by the gate, so I wasn’t sure and just picked one. Am I on the right track?”

Carlotta smiled. “Either one will take you where you’re going,” she said kindly. “Just keep following the path up. You can’t miss Dragonsreach. They don’t call it the Cloud District for nothing.”

“Thank you,” the Redguard said, nodding. “Mistress…”

“Carlotta. Carlotta Valentia.”

“Mistress Valentia,” the woman said with a tired smile, warm as her voice. Something in Carlotta’s chest fluttered.

“Carlotta’s fine,” she said, straightening up. “Lately I’ve heard enough ‘Madame Valentia’ this and ‘Dear Mistress Valentia’ that. It gets old.”

“Do you?” the woman said, raising her dark eyebrows. “Then by all means, Carlotta it is. I’m Zaririna. Zari for short.”

“Zari,” Carlotta said, the vowels musical on her tongue. “What brings you to Dragonsreach and Whiterun, then, Zari?”

Zari’s eyes hardened. “Danger,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Thank you for your help.”

And she was gone, up the stone steps and into the Wind District before Carlotta could say goodbye. From across the square, the young tradeswoman Ysolda caught her eye and sauntered over curiously.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Carlotta replied. “She was in a hurry to see the Jarl, though.”

“Strange,” Ysolda said, yawning. “By the way, those green apples you sold me the other day were delicious.”

 

* * *

 

Though Carlotta hung around her stand for the rest of the day, Zari didn’t reappear until the shops began to close and the market stands began to pack up. Carlotta boxed up her wheels of goat cheese and potatoes, careful not to bruise the produce. She locked the things that wouldn’t spoil under the stand’s counter, and lifted the crate of cheese onto her shoulder, turning toward home.

Just as she set foot on the stairs, a familiar pair of boots appeared in front of her. She looked up and saw the Redguard woman tripping down the stairs, mouthing words to herself. Zari brushed right past her, her focus on Arcadia, who had stepped outside to lock the door of her shop.

“Wait!” Zari called, throwing a hand out to catch Arcadia’s attention. “Please, I don’t need to buy anything, I just need to use your mortar and pestle. And alembic, if you have it. And your fireplace.”

Arcadia gave her a perplexed look, but she held the door open and Zari darted in. Catching sight of Carlotta staring, she gestured at the doorway and gave her a questioning look.

Carlotta shrugged and turned back to the stairs. The cheese needed to be stowed in her cellar before she could begin making supper.

 

* * *

 

Like all nights, Mila tried to persuade her mother to take her to the Bannered Mare for supper. Unlike most nights, Carlotta relented and agreed, on the condition that Mila behave herself and finish her meal before asking for dessert.

As soon as she and Mila were seated by the fire with their baked potatoes, grilled leeks and leg of goat roast to share, Mikael slid over with his lute and a stupid grin on his face.

“Carlotta,” the blonde Nord said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. “How might I serenade you this evening? No song in my repertoire could do your poise, beauty and charm justice, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

“Ugh, Mikael,” Carlotta said with a dismissive wave. “Go bother someone else tonight, my daughter and I would like to eat in peace.”

“Some light dinner music then? Don’t worry, I’ve been practicing just for you,” Mikael said with a wink, before breaking into a light, breezy tune and sailing over to the bar. Hulda the innkeeper rolled her eyes and went back to polishing tankards.

Despite Mila picking at her leeks, the two finished supper without much incident. Carlotta had just gone up to the bar to order a boiled creme treat for Mila when the door to the inn swung open and Zari stepped in. The Redguard strode over to the bar and put a few septims on the counter, attracting Hulda’s attention.

“What can I get you?” the innkeeper asked.

“A room for the night and mead,” Zari replied. Carlotta noted that most of the strings of flowers and mushrooms were missing from her leather armor.

“The room’s yours,” Hulda said, sweeping up the coin. “And we have either Honningbrew or Black-Briar.”

“One of each, then,” Zari said, settling onto a stool. She turned to survey the room and caught sight of Carlotta.

“You again,” she said with a smile. “The one who doesn’t like being called ‘Mistress.’”

Carlotta sighed. “Hulda, if you have any boiled creme treats, Mila’s sweet tooth is kicking in.”

“Saadia!” Hulda called, turning back to her polishing.

Carlotta sat down next to the woman. “It’s nothing personal,” she said. “The men of this city don’t have much of an imagination when it comes to flirtation.”

Hulda set the two bottles of mead in front of Zari, who uncorked the Honningbrew and took a swig. “You get a lot of attention from men?” she asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

Carlotta blushed. “You’ve got no idea,” she replied. “Half the men in Whiterun have proposed to me. Some were even single.”

She sighed heavily. “They'll never understand. No amount of flowers or honeyed words are going to change my mind. Right now, all that matters is my daughter, Mila.”

Carlotta gestured at the little girl across the room, who was licking salt off her fingers and drying them in front of the fire. Zari turned and looked, and an expression of understanding settled on her face.

“She’s beautiful,” the Redguard said.

“Thank you,” Carlotta said quietly. “No man's going to get between me and my little girl."

Zari frowned. “Is someone giving you trouble?”

“Well, life’s hard enough with all these men propositioning me,” Carlotta said, leaning against the bar. She jerked her head at Mikael, who was laughing heartily with a group of farmers in the corner. “But that bard is the worst. I’ve heard him boasting in here before, saying he’ll ‘conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.’ Hmph.”

Zari studied the bard. Carlotta got the impression she didn’t see him as much of a threat.

“What if I talked to him?” Zari asked, her eyes fixed on Mikael’s face.

The inn’s new waitress set a boiled creme treat down in front of Carlotta. She stood up and grabbed the plate, shrugging dismissively.

“If you want to try, go right ahead,” she said, walking back to her seat by the fire. “I don’t think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though.”

Mila happily devoured the creme treat, and Carlotta was brushing crumbs off her dress when she heard a loud crash. She looked over and saw Zari straddling Mikael, pummeling the bard’s face with her fists.

With a look of disgust, Carlotta pulled her daughter to her feet and marched her to the front of the inn. “Don’t look, sweetie,” she said, pushing the door open.

“But mama, I want to see who wins!” Mila whined.

“None of that,” Carlotta said sharply. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at the two brawlers before shutting the door.

 

* * *

 

Only a few minutes after Carlotta opened her stall the next day, Zari emerged from the Bannered Mare with a black eye, a fat lip and Uthgerd the Unbroken in tow. Zari made a beeline for her stall and set some septims on the counter.

“A pound of salt,” she requested. Carlotta gave her a judgmental look, but began scooping salt out of her jar and into a leather bag.

When she set the tied bag in front of Zari, the Redguard stowed it in her pack. “Mikael won’t be bothering you anymore,” she said.

“Really,” Carlotta said, raising her eyebrows. “You convinced the lute player to stop chasing me.”

Zari nodded, absentmindedly touching a hand to her black eye.

“You couldn’t have done it in a less destructive manner?”

Zari shrugged. “I tried,” she said. “He wasn’t interested.”

Carlotta sighed. “I’d thank the gods, but I’ll settle for thanking you,” she said, rummaging around under the counter. She set a stack of septims on the worn wood. “Some coin for your trouble.”

Zari shook her head. Carlotta pushed the coins closer to her, but the woman backed away with a satisfied smile and turned, heading down the hill toward the main gate with Uthgerd close behind.


	2. Middas, 20th of Last Seed

A day and a half later, Carlotta was unloading cabbages from a farmer’s cart and stacking them in her display case when she caught sight of Zari and Uthgerd making their way up the hill. The Redguard’s black eye had ripened into a shiny violet color, but the swelling on her lip had gone down. Uthgerd was sporting a new helmet with ram’s horns and a steel battleaxe that matched Zari’s, and Zari was lugging a wide, flat stone with the carved aspect of a dragon and several patterned claw marks.

Uthgerd stopped at the produce stall, plunked a heavy bag down on the counter and pulled out a few septims. “Three apples, Carlotta,” the Nord warrior matron boomed, picking through the bag and extracting various bits of jewelry. She examined a silver ring, holding it up to the light before slipping it on her right index finger.

Zari groaned and eased the heavy stone to the ground. An amulet honoring Julianos hung around her neck. A new addition.

“What have you got there?” Carlotta asked curiously, leaning over the stall. She grabbed three apples from a basket and placed them next to the septims.

“According to that wizard in the keep, a Dragon Stone,” Zari said, wiping her brow. Beads of sweat were forming on her smooth forehead, and her eyes were warm and inviting.

Carlotta withdrew a bit at the mention of dragons. The rumors had had ample time to spread: Stories of a black mark in the sky, with the wings of a bat and the teeth of a sabre cat, eyes red as a fresh-cut ruby. Helgen in flames.

“What does it do?” she asked hesitantly. The stone didn’t look particularly magical.

Zari rubbed the smooth face of the rock. “It should help us understand why a dragon roams the skies again after so much time.”

Carlotta nodded. “Gods willing,” she said. “Where did you find it?”

“Bleak Falls Barrow,” Uthgerd said proudly, stowing two apples in her pack. “It was a long walk through tunnels full of bandits, skeevers and our restless ancestors, but it was worth it.”

“And not a new scratch on either of you,” Carlotta said in wonder.

Zari fished a small vial out of her pack and held it up to the light. Its contents swirled, blood-red mixing with twists of purple.

“A little blisterwort and some blue mountain flowers go a long way,” Zari said with a smile. “Crush it with wheat and you can make a porridge that will keep color in your cheeks for days.”

Uthgerd bit deeply into the third apple. “Best get up to the keep,” she advised, crunching loudly. “That Farengar isn’t a patient man.”

Zari nodded and put the vial away. She hefted the stone up and over her shoulder, the muscles in her arms taut from the strain.

“Next time, I get to carry the loot,” she grunted, and the two warrior women headed for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Carlotta noticed a group of guards whispering where the corner of Arcadia’s Cauldron met Belethor’s General Goods. It was hard to tell with their helmets on, but they seemed agitated about something, fidgeting with their shields and fingering the hilts of their swords.

A clatter atop the stairs to the Wind District turned Carlotta’s head, and Irileth, the Dunmer housecarl to the Jarl, descended the slope at a full-tilt run. She was closely followed by Zari and Uthgerd, and the three raced past the produce stand and down the hill toward the main gate.

The guards by the stores started and rushed after the three women, and Carlotta and the other vendors stared after them.

“What in Oblivion is going on?” old Fralia Gray-Mane asked, clutching a string of freshwater pearls to her chest.

The hunter Anoriath picked up his bow in the stall next to her and set about stringing it. “Nothing good makes the guards run like that,” he said.

Another group of guards descended the stairs from the Wind District, their yellow shields on their backs and bows in their hands. Carlotta attempted to flag one down, but the Nord only slowed momentarily while his companions thundered through the market.

“What calls you to fight?” she asked, apprehensive.

“The western watchtower has sighted a dragon,” he bellowed over his shoulder, before rushing after the rest of the guards.

Carlotta paled and looked around the square. Her daughter was nowhere in sight.

“Mila!” she called, tossing vegetables and fruits back into crates beneath the counter. She locked the produce up and threw the goat cheese into a basket. The rest of the market was in chaos, vendors packing up their wares and customers running about the square, shrieking and crying.

“Mila!” Carlotta cried over the noise. “Mila, where are you!”

She caught sight of Saffir’s child, Braith, running for the stairs. She darted forward and seized the girl’s shoulder, spinning her around.

“Braith, have you seen Mila anywhere?” she asked breathlessly.

Braith shook her hand loose. “She and Lars were skipping stones in the moat earlier, but I don’t know where they are now,” she said in a scared tone, before running up the steps.

Carlotta followed her and looked wildly around the Wind District, searching for the little blue dress her daughter had put on that morning. She caught sight of her daughter huddled beneath the ailing Gildergreen, and the child stood and ran to her side.

“Mama!” she cried. “Mama, what’s going on?”

“Hush, little one,” Carlotta replied, taking her hand and making haste toward their house. “The guards will protect us.”

She and Mila ran around the side of their home and threw open the cellar doors. Carlotta sent Mila down to stow away the basket of cheese, pulling the lock off the outside door handles before descending into the dark and slamming the slatted wood shut. She locked the doors from the inside and sat in the cool earth with her daughter, huddling together and listening to the sounds of the panicking city above.

“What’s going on, Mama?” Mila asked again, her voice muffled against the fabric of Carlotta’s sleeve.

“A guard told me they spotted a dragon,” she answered truthfully, putting an arm around the little girl.

“Really?” Mila asked in wonder. “I thought dragons were just a story. Braith and Lars said they all died a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carlotta said quietly. “We’ll be safe down here. The wood and the earth’s surface may scorch, but down this deep we’ll be safe.”

Footsteps ran by overhead. Mila snuggled closer to her mother.

“How long do we have to wait?” she asked.

“As long as it takes,” Carlotta replied. “Are you hungry? You can have a piece of cheese.”

“Not really,” Mila said. “Will you tell me a story?”

Carlotta stroked her daughter’s hair and looked up at the light shining through the cracks in the cellar doors. “Of course,” she said. “Once upon a time, in a village far away from here, the chieftain discovered every morning that something had stolen among his goats at night and slain ten of them…”

 

* * *

 

Carlotta didn’t know how long they sat in the cellar, but she told her daughter stories until the girl’s breathing slowed and steadied, her little head heavy in her mother’s lap. Carlotta stroked her hair and watched the light dim between the door slats as the sun moved through the sky. All was quiet above. Maybe it was safe.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake. A roar grew in the world, deep and echoing through the earth and the air. Carlotta clutched her sleeping daughter close, but the sound and movement were over almost as soon as they had started.

Mila woke with a start. “Mama?” she said fearfully.

“Sssshhh, child,” Carlotta said. She rocked the girl in her lap, her eyes on the cellar doors.

The sound did not return, and not long after, Carlotta was relieved to hear the sound of jingling footsteps walking through the street.

“The dragon is slain!” a guard’s voice called out, muffled by the door. “The city is safe!”

Carlotta sighed and squeezed Mila one last time before rising and opening the cellar. The two of them squinted in the sunlight as they emerged, blinking in wonder at the intact city around them. Across the way, Olfrid and his sons, Idolaf and Jon, stepped out of the House of Clan Battle-Born, looking about in confusion.

“Did nothing burn?” Jon asked.

His father cuffed him on the back of the head. “Don’t question the mercy of the gods,” he said.

“What was that noise?” Idolaf asked. “It sounded almost human.”

“As human as you or I,” Olfrid said, striding down the steps of the house. “I’d bet my best cow that was the Greybeards crying out. What for, is anyone’s guess.”

 

* * *

 

Carlotta did not reopen her produce stand that afternoon, deciding instead to stay home with Mila inside the safety of their house. She ran buckets to fill a tub with water and gave her daughter a bath, washing the dirt from the cellar away with a block of soap scented with juniper berries. She tucked Mila into bed early and only ventured out after making certain she slept.

The Bannered Mare was packed with townsfolk, all jabbering away about the dragon and the Jarl’s plans to keep the city safe. At the center of it all was Uthgerd the Unbroken, holding court over a fascinated audience with her account of the dragon’s attack.

“We came upon the tower in ruins,” the Nord woman was saying, sloshing a tankard of ale around in the air for emphasis. “Fires burning on all sides, ashen corpses strewn across the field among the stones. The guards that had escaped with their lives were hiding in the tower, and called out to us that the creature would be back.”

She paused to take in a swallow of ale before resuming her story. “Then, through the sky came a roar, like to turn a man’s heart to stone. The great beast soared overhead, crying out its challenge, and we turned our bows to the sky and rained arrows upon it to no avail. Its scales were hard and bronze in the afternoon sun, and the flames shooting from its maw forced us back into the tower.”

“Go on, Uthgerd, how did you bring it down?” Mikael cried, enraptured.

“The Redguard woman, Zaririna, cursed the beast and called us to aim for the creature’s wings,” Uthgerd said, smiling at the attentive murmurs of the crowd. “Our arrows rent holes in its leathery sails, and the wretched thing came tumbling from the sky like a fallen star. And still, it set fire to the grass around it and snatched up any who went close.”

She puffed up her chest in pride. “I made to distract it by sticking an axe in its tail, and it roared so loudly some stones tumbled off what was left of the tower. As it turned its head, the Redguard woman drove her own axe between the scales of its neck, and its lifeblood poured out over her as it left this world.”

There were cheers around the inn, and Hulda set out an army of tankards as several customers called for more drinks for themselves and Uthgerd.

“And then,” Uthgerd said after draining her drink and accepting another, “The strangest thing happened. As we watched, the flesh, blood and fat melted off the dragon’s carcass in a swirl of light and flame, and Zaririna was caught up in it. I thought she was dead for certain, but when it dissipated, she was standing there, clean as the day she was born, next to a pile of dragon bones.”

The crowd around her gasped. “Witchcraft,” someone muttered.

Uthgerd shook a finger. “Not witchcraft,” she corrected. “Ancient magic. The Way of the Voice. The Thu’um. Right there, she opened her mouth and out of it came the force of the gods.”

“She shouted?” asked Olfina Gray-Mane, who was handing out drinks.

“She shouted,” Uthgerd confirmed. “Broke the bones of the dragon apart right in front of me.”

“Then what was that fell voice in the sky?” Mikael asked.

“That’ll be the Greybeards,” Eorlund Gray-Mane said, nodding sagely. “They’ll be calling her to High Hrothgar, if she’s Dragonborn.”

“Dragonborn,” Carlotta breathed. “A Redguard? I thought only Nords had the ability to speak the dragon tongue.”

Eorlund turned to her. “Anyone can learn,” he said. “But a Dragonborn who is not a Nord is a rarity.”

“Aye,” said Jon Battle-Born. “I envy her the honor, but not the journey. The road to the Throat of the World is a treacherous one.”

“But will she go?” Carlotta asked.

Eorlund shrugged. “She must.”

 

* * *

 

Carlotta left the inn after she had drunk an Argonian ale and heard her fill of the details about the dragon attack. She stepped lightly into the street, her cheeks flushing warm in the cold evening.

“Mistress,” a familiar voice said in the silent square. A slim figure detached itself from a wooden column outside Arcadia’s Cauldron and padded forward, revealing itself as the Redguard woman everyone was talking about.

Carlotta smiled. “I thought I told you I prefer my real name,” she said.

“Carlotta,” Zari said, the stars reflected in her amber eyes. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Carlotta replied. “Thanks to you. You saved us. You saved Whiterun.”

She lowered her eyes. “We’re in your debt.”

Zari shook her head. “Never,” she replied. “Whiterun owes me nothing. I did what anyone would have done. What others did do, in fact.”

Carlotta held a hand out. “The others didn’t stop its heart and absorb its life force,” she said, curling her fingers slightly in invitation. “They’re celebrating you inside. You should go in, before Uthgerd drinks too much and takes all of the credit.”

Zari smiled. “I’d rather not,” she said, hesitantly taking Carlotta’s hand. “I have much to think about, and mead tends to dull the senses.”

Carlotta squeezed her hand. “Then walk with me,” she suggested. “I don’t live far. Maybe I can offer you wisdom, such that I have.”

They fell in step together, and Carlotta led them on the long way back to her house. She listened intently as Zari recalled the fight, the rush of the dragon’s death and the feeling of its essence as it left its old host and took up residence inside her. By the time her story was done the two had stopped outside Carlotta’s front door.

“I’m frightened,” Zari said, her eyes wide and pleading. “I’m new to this land. A few days ago I was a captive. Yesterday I was a mercenary. Today, I’m Dragonborn. Dovahkiin, the Greybeards called me. It’s too much.”

Carlotta nodded. “I understand your fear,” she said. “Perhaps it is well-placed. But I know you are strong and you already know what you must do.”

Zari nodded. “I spoke with the Jarl again, and he was pleased,” she said, pulling the battleaxe from her back. “He made me a Thane, and gifted me with this.”

Carlotta examined the steel axe. The weapon was very similar to the one Zari had wielded when she arrived in Whiterun, but the knotted patterns on the blade were different and the leather of the handle was bleached and supple. As she ran her hand over the length, she felt warmth emanating from it.

“It’s enchanted,” she said in wonder.

“A fire spell,” Zari said, slinging the battleaxe over her back once again. “He also assigned me Lydia, as a housecarl.”

Carlotta nodded. “Lydia is a brave fighter,” she said. “I have heard stories of her success in warding giants and bears away from the nearby farms. She will serve you well.”

“She and I leave for Ivarstead tomorrow.”

Carlotta’s heart dropped. “So soon?”

Zari smiled slyly at her. “Would you prefer I left later?”

“No, your road awaits you,” Carlotta said, blushing. “Far be it from me to keep you from walking it.”

Zari took a cautious step closer, and Carlotta met her eyes in the dark.

“Will I see you again?” Carlotta asked, an ember growing within her chest from the closeness of the other woman.

“If you wish it,” Zari breathed. She extended a hand and ran a thumb along Carlotta’s jawline. Carlotta shivered, but didn’t move away from the touch.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Then I must bid you goodnight,” the Redguard Dragonborn whispered in return, and crossed the small divide to place a kiss on Carlotta’s lips. It was soft and sweet, like a dancing breeze on a summer day, and Carlotta closed her eyes in comfort.

The two parted under the stars, and Carlotta watched as Zari padded off toward the inn again, the lingering warmth on her lips more potent than any drink Hulda had ever served her.


	3. Sundas, 24th of Last Seed

The Dragonborn left in the early hours of the morning the next day, but Carlotta did not see her go. She heard later from Olfina Gray-Mane that the woman had bought the horse named Queen Alfsigr from Skulvar Sable-Hilt and ridden east before dawn with Lydia. 

Carlotta wondered if she would ever see Zari again. A few days later, she discovered her fears were unfounded when there was a knock on her door during supper, which she found to be Lydia with a summons. 

“My Thane requests your presence at her new estate,” Lydia said formally, declining Carlotta’s invitation to come inside. 

“Her estate?” 

“My lady has purchased Breezehome,” Lydia explained. “She asks you come as soon as you are able.” 

The Nord woman cast a glance at Mila, who was curiously watching the exchange while she munched on an apple. “Your daughter is welcome as well.” 

Carlotta looked to her wide-eyed daughter, then back to Lydia. “Thank you,” she said. “Tell your Thane her summons will not go ignored.” 

Lydia nodded and bid her goodbye. Carlotta turned and stared at the hearth, before moving to grab her daughter’s cloak from the peg by the door. 

“Come, Mila,” she said. “Finish your supper. You’re going to visit Lars and his family for the night.” 

“Really, mama?” Mila drank down the rest of the broth in her soup bowl and jumped up. “But what about the Thane?” 

“Never you mind, sweetie,” Carlotta said. “Hurry up, now. I want you on your best behavior.” 

 

* * *

 

Carlotta took in a deep breath before knocking on the door to the cottage near the front gates. Far off in the distance, thunder rumbled, threatening rain. 

After a minute, the cottage door opened to reveal its new owner, her dark skin glowing, silhouetted by the firelight behind her. 

“Mistress,” Zari said with a smile. 

Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Dragonborn.” 

She laughed at that. “Please, come in.” 

Carlotta crossed the doorstep into the little wooden home. The floors and walls were bare, save the fire pit in the center with one chair and a stack of wood next to it. A series of pegs by the door held cloaks and strings of drying red berries. 

Zari looked around behind Carlotta curiously. “Where’s your daughter?” 

“Alfhild Battle-Born owed me a favor,” Carlotta replied with a shrug, taking off her cloak. “Mila is friends with her son, Lars. The two should be happy to spend some extra playtime together for the night.” 

She put her cloak on a peg and smoothed out her cream-colored dress. “You summoned me?” 

Zari moved to stoke the fire. She had discarded her leather armor and weapons for the evening, and was wearing a pair of loose-fitting pants cuffed at the ankles and a rough, brown vest over a flowing, tan blouse. Her feet were bare and her dark locks were tied back behind her head. 

“Less a summons and more an invitation,” she said as she poked at the embers in the hearth. “I wanted to see you again.” 

Carlotta took in a sharp breath. She had said it so matter-of-factly, as if this reunion had been inevitable. Her hand drifted up and caressed her lower lip, feeling the ghost of the kiss that had been Zari’s parting gift the last time they had met. 

Zari looked up from the fire. “Was I too presumptuous?” 

“No,” Carlotta said, moving closer to the warmth of the flames. “In truth, I thought of this moment often over the last few days.” 

Zari nodded. She settled into a comfortable position on the floor and gestured at the chair. Carlotta declined and took a seat on the other side of the fire instead. 

“The Greybeards,” she said. “What did they ask of you?” 

Shadows grew on Zari’s face, lengthened by the dance of the fire before her. “Nothing and everything,” she answered. “They would have me be student and teacher, servant and queen.” 

“What task have they laid before you?” 

Zari sighed. “They asked that I seek the horn of the first of their order, Jurgen Windcaller,” she said. “Supposedly it lies in Ustengrav, north of the town of Morthal.” 

“Another crypt,” Carlotta said with a nod. “And what did you learn?” 

“That they know nothing about the return of the dragons,” Zari said angrily, breaking a stray stick in half and tossing it into the fire. “Arngeir is certain their emergence is related to my talent, but he has no answers for me or the people.” 

Carlotta bit her lower lip. 

“And instead of seeking answers, they send me after a legend buried by the winds.” Zari rolled a log into the fire ferociously, sending sparks flying up in a glittering plume. The Redguard woman’s eyes caught the heat, their depths shimmering gold and copper between the flames. 

“So you returned to Whiterun,” Carlotta said. 

Zari nodded. “I came to this land in search of a peaceful life. I think I could find it here.” 

Carlotta smiled. “Peace does not seem to be something your destiny holds, Dragonborn. But I suppose you could always ask your new neighbor Olava the Feeble, if you get on her good side. She possesses the gift.” 

Zari chuckled at that. “Would that I had coin left for such an endeavor,” she said. “Purchasing this house has emptied my purse.” 

She looked at Carlotta curiously. “Have you sought her services before?” 

Carlotta nodded. “Once,” she said. “A long time ago. Just after… after my husband died.” 

“I didn’t mean to breathe life into past tragedies,” Zari said kindly. 

“It’s alright,” Carlotta said quickly. “I think… I think you should know what she told me.” 

She sighed heavily and patted the floor next to her. “Come, sit.” 

Zari moved around the fire and sat softly down next to her. She radiated warmth and otherworldly energy, a sweet rumble in Carlotta’s bones that told her this woman, this creature next to her was more than a mere mortal. She shivered and held her hands out to the fire. 

“I suppose this is what it must have felt like to sit near Tiber Septim,” she murmured. 

Zari shook her head with a smile. “I’m flesh and blood,” she said. “You need not be afraid.” 

Carlotta turned to meet her eyes. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Zari blinked in confusion. Carlotta took one of her hands and squeezed it. 

“Just listen,” she suggested. “And I’ll tell you my sad story. Then you can decide if you wish to be part of it.” 

 

* * *

 

Carlotta Valentia and Oenstein Fog-Song were wed in the Temple of Mara as they passed through Riften, returning to Oenstein’s homeland from a years-long courtship and engagement in Cyrodiil. They were young, they were smitten, and they had their hearts set on settling down on a patch of land somewhere in the plains of Skyrim in order to raise the child that had already begun to grow in Carlotta’s womb. 

Carlotta was the happiest woman in Tamriel that day, as her strong, Nordic bear of a husband- a  _ husband! _ \- set her down gently in the cart after the ceremony, his hands lingering on the curves of her waist and stomach. His green eyes smiled ceaselessly then, at her, at the trees and flowers around the road to Whiterun, at the blue skies full of calling birds and buzzing insects. 

The two of them purchased a small home in the city upon their arrival, and her beloved Oen carried her, laughing, across its threshold. They had big plans, which they talked about excitedly at the Bannered Mare late into the night. Carlotta would resume selling produce, the trade she had been taught by her mother and father, and their parents before them. Oen would join a logging team in the southern part of the hold and save up money until they could buy a homestead in the hills. They would build their own house, their own halls and kitchen and furniture, and maybe get a goat or a cow. Their child would grow up strong, and someday have little brothers and sisters to play with. 

She waved goodbye when he set off in the cart later that week, and for some time she would receive letters via couriers, carrying septims and short missives about the road, the timber, the creatures Oen was encountering along the way. He had set up a good relationship with the local sawmills, his team was friendly and competitive, everything was going well. 

It was during the month their child was due that a courier delivered the letter that stopped her heart. It was written in a different hand, not Oen’s usual, scratchy style.  _ Found dead,  _ it said. _ Creature of the woods, most like.  _ No way to convey their sorrow. It came with a bag of septims, more than Oen could have had, as if more gold was enough to cover her grief, her loss. 

What remains they could find, they had buried in the Falkreath graveyard, among the rows and rows of headstones from ages of death. Carlotta had cried, then screamed in anguish at the injustice of it, had set about pulling on her boots and cloak to march off to the little town in the woods and bring back her beloved, but the sudden activity began her contractions. Hours later, Mila was drawn into the world, screaming alongside her mother who cried out for reasons she could not yet understand. 

Carlotta was despondent for days, weeks, months. When Mila was hungry, she nursed her. When she was soiled, she cleaned her. When she was tired, she rocked her. The routine became a drug, a numbing existence that tamed the grief she began to fear. If she let it in, just for a moment, it would consume her. Slowly, she returned to her old routines, running the produce stand with a babe on her hip and a blank stare on her face. People whispered. People worried. 

A year passed, and as the anniversary of Oen’s death drew near, Carlotta sank into despair that would not allow her to leave the house, the chair by the fire, the bed. It was during one of these days that there was a soft knock on the door, which revealed itself to be Fralia Gray-Mane. 

“Come, child,” Fralia said, casting a pitying glance around Carlotta’s hearth and kitchen. “Clean yourself. I will take the babe for the evening, and you get yourself to the fortune teller’s home. She wishes to speak to you.” 

The old woman gathered Mila and her toys and left Carlotta to bathe and dress. When she had summoned the courage, she made her way to the small house near the gate. 

Olava the Feeble answered the door with a smile and open arms. Carlotta sank into them and stumbled to a chair by the fire, the old woman supporting her and shaking her head. 

“I feel your pain,” she said, offering Carlotta some tea. Carlotta took the mug gratefully. “But I brought you here because I have seen an end to it.” 

Carlotta clenched her fingers around the mug. “Is it Oen?” she croaked, her voice hoarse from lack of use. “Have you seen him? Is he alive?” 

“Relax, child,” the fortune teller said. “It’s not as clear as that. I had a dream of you, and I asked you here because I wish to learn what more the gods can tell us.” 

She scooted her chair closer to Carlotta’s and extended a shaking hand. Carlotta took it, winding the worn fingers up in her own. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Olava said. “Free your mind. Relax.” 

Carlotta did her best. Olava closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “I see… a house. No, not a house, a hall… overlooking the city from afar. Strong walls, a tower, and children… one is your daughter, and the rest are yours of a fashion.” 

Carlotta gasped. “Do you see Oen?” 

Olava clenched her eyes tighter and screwed up her mouth. “I see the same hall, but under a sky of many colors and eternal twilight. This hall is empty, save your love. He fells trees… he farms…  and he waits. His view is not the same as yours.” 

“Sovngarde,” Carlotta said forlornly, covering her face with her free hand. “I suppose I should be grateful he has found peace.” 

“That is not all, child,” Olava went on. Her face relaxed slightly. “There is… another.” 

“Another what?” 

“Another who stands by you,” Olava replied vaguely. “A warrior. Dark as the shroud of Nocturnal, tall as the clouds over High Hrothgar. The lantern that glows within them shall be a beacon for your search and an ember for your empty fire.” 

The old fortune teller opened her eyes. “But it makes no sense,” she said. “This warrior also stands by your husband in Aetherius but… not as equals. That cannot be right. Soul… soul of Akatosh?” 

“Akatosh?” 

Olava pitched forward in her chair suddenly, and Carlotta threw an arm out to keep her upright. 

“Thank you, child,” the fortune teller said with a wavering voice when Carlotta had maneuvered her back into her seat. “This sets in stone the dream I had of you and your daughter. I fear I can pry no more into the future today, but what is certain is this: Your heart will heal in time, and when the time comes, you will no longer face this world alone.”

 

* * *

 

“And then?” Zari asked with a gentle squeeze of Carlotta’s hand. 

“And then I left,” Carlotta said, squeezing back. “I went to House Gray-Mane and took Mila and went home. I cleaned my house, I put my life in order, and I waited. Over time, the pain faded, and I stopped waiting for an answer.” 

She smiled and bowed her head. “People started taking notice of me again, after that. Men, mostly.” 

Zari smiled in return. “But you told them all you wouldn’t let a man come between you and your daughter.” 

“I did.” 

Thunder rumbled outside the house, and rain began pattering against the roof. Zari’s thumb stroked the skin of Carlotta’s knuckles softly. “Then what would you ask of me?” 

“In truth? Nothing,” Carlotta replied. “The Greybeards and Skyrim herself seem to have put tasks ahead of you that I would not wish to add to. But it seems that our fates are intertwined.” 

She looked up into the other woman’s amber eyes. “It may sound strange, but I knew who you were the moment you first set foot in the marketplace. Something in my heart called out to you.” 

Zari’s eyes sparkled with what could only be desire. “A sensation I’m familiar with,” she said. “Though at the time I didn’t know why.” 

The Dragonborn woman reached for her, and Carlotta let herself sink into her embrace. Hands touched her waist, her neck, tender and yearning in a way she had not known for a long time. Zari’s lips were on her forehead, soft and warm and earnest. 

Still, a whisper stopped her from letting go entirely. She disentangled herself from the Redguard woman’s arms and stood. 

“What is it?” Zari asked, her expression worried. 

“Nothing,” Carlotta said quickly. “And yet… I’ve known you less than an entire day.” 

“And I, you,” Zari said, raising her eyebrows. 

“Even if I’ve known loss, it has not encouraged me to rush into something such as this,” Carlotta said carefully. “Even if the gods have demanded it. I don’t know what you plan to do, where you plan to go, but I know my life is here, with my daughter. I don’t expect you to promise anything, but truthfully, the life you are called to as Dragonborn sets a spark of fear in me.” 

Zari pressed her lips together. “That is the nature of the beast I am, I’m afraid,” she said. “I don’t know what lies ahead of me, even if the fortune teller showed you a piece of it. I live moment to moment and I always have.” 

“And the people of Skyrim… of Tamriel need you,” Carlotta added. “Who am I to tether you to this little town?” 

Zari stood. She was tall, nearly a head taller than Carlotta herself. Instinctively, she backed up until she felt the wooden wall of the cottage at her back, then blushed at her sudden nervousness. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the floor. 

Zari smiled and moved toward her, extending a hand to tilt her head up and meet her eyes. The fire was at her back again, but it shone within those golden eyes as well. 

“Do not apologize,” she said, her face suddenly solemn. “I’m scared of what it means too.” 

She dropped her hand and took a step back. “If you wish to leave and think on it, you are free to go.” 

Carlotta swallowed. She looked at the beautiful, dark-skinned warrior in front of her, took in her resigned expression and her Hammerfell-styled clothing. She stepped forward and took Zari’s hands in hers. 

“Am I free to stay?” she asked, nearly a whisper. 

Zari’s answer was a swift kiss, hard and desperate. Carlotta reciprocated, but slowed the moment, savoring the feel of the other woman’s mouth against her own. She tasted of mead and honey and mint, this Redguard who had disrupted the natural order of things, had crashed into her life with fire in her eyes and dragons in the sky. 

She wound her hands up in Zari’s hair, the texture new to her fingers. Zari gasped into her mouth and pushed against her, up into the rough, timber wall of the cottage. Splinters scratched at her dress and the small of her back, but Carlotta didn’t care. She released Zari’s mouth and ran her teeth gently along the dark skin of her neck, eliciting a small noise somewhere between a groan and a snarl from the other woman. 

Zari tangled one of her hands in Carlotta’s hair, and the other wrapped around her waist, forcefully arching her back forward. Carlotta moaned as a thigh pushed her legs apart, stretching the fabric of her dress to rub at the joining between them. 

“Lydia,” she breathed, her mind briefly flitting away from the body covering hers. 

“What?” 

“Lydia,” Carlotta said, opening her eyes in question. “Should we…” 

Zari shook her head. “My housecarl is most likely warming the bed of the Jarl’s brother,” she said breathlessly, her hand leaving Carlotta’s hair to stroke the length of her neck. “Worry not.” 

She tugged at the strings of Carlotta’s bodice, undoing the knots until her dress eased down her shoulders and fell to the floor. Zari paused and studied her then, taking in her curves peeking through the fabric of her shift. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples nudging at the translucent material, and the hem of the shift swayed invitingly, just covering the parts of her that ached and shuddered from the sudden intimate contact. 

Carlotta moved as if to undress Zari, but she shrugged off her hands and pressed her against the wall again. Carlotta gasped when she slid a hand up the inside of her thigh, straight into the center of her heat. Zari cupped the soft thicket she found there, and with her other hand she pinned Carlotta’s right hand to the wall. 

“Be still,” she commanded, and Carlotta shivered as she lazily slid a finger between her folds. She ground in her heels and tried to do as she was told, but the arching of her back and the soft cry she released could not be contained. 

Zari smiled mischievously and ran the finger along the length of her entrance a few times, taking her time at either end. She reached forward and grabbed the lobe of Carlotta’s ear in her teeth just as she slid the finger inside her. 

Carlotta’s legs threatened to give way, but Zari was there to hold her up, her long, lithe body rigid against her own. Slowly, the finger worked within her, stroking her walls while a thumb pushed gently at her clit in time with the Redguard’s rhythm. 

Carlotta reached her free hand out to touch Zari’s hair again, and the motion of the fingers stopped immediately. 

“What did I say?” Zari said, the fire in her eyes blazing. 

“Be… be still,” Carlotta gasped. 

Zari looked as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. “It’s alright,” she said, resuming her movements, but Carlotta had seen something wicked and wild in her gaze for an instant: Something that simultaneously scared her and set her skin on fire. 

When Carlotta felt the finger inside her had explored every inch of her, Zari added another, stretching her walls into new shapes and bringing cries of pleasure to her lips. She came helplessly, thrashing around the hand she was clinging to, and Zari waited until she was finished before bringing her fingers to her mouth for a taste. 

Carlotta again tried to reach for her, but Zari shrugged her off once more and picked up the discarded dress. She bid her put it on again and walked around to the other side of the hearth. Silently, she stared into the flames until Carlotta had finished lacing up her bodice. 

“Lydia and I will ride for Ustengrav tomorrow,” she said. “It’s a long journey. I should rest.” 

Carlotta nodded, confused. “As you wish.” 

Zari looked up, her eyes warm and inviting again. “I don’t know when I will return, but it is a certainty that I will,” she said. “Good night, mistress.” 

Carlotta took the cue and headed for the door. “Good night, Dragonborn,” she said, before heading out into the rain. 


	4. Morndas, 1st of Hearthfire

The warm days of summer died when the Redguard woman left with her housecarl for the cold swamps of Morthal. It was as if the sun followed her from the plains, and the farms around the city began to bring their crops inside in earnest.

Carlotta and Mila had their hands full, stowing bushels of apples, sacks of flour and vats of butter in their cellar as the days grew shorter. Carlotta once again scraped together the coin to bid the court wizard to visit their little home and cast a long-lasting ward around their winter supplies.

“That should keep out any creatures up to the size of a skeever,” Farengar Secret-Fire said, wiping his hands when he had finished. “Now, I have to get back to my duties.”

Carlotta watched him go, his robes trailing over the cobblestones of the Wind District on his way back to the stairs up to Dragonsreach. She wondered if the stone Zari had recovered for him had done anything at all, or if he simply had it sitting on a mantel somewhere as a trophy.

The festival of Harvest’s End came and went, filling the streets with travelers and drunken farm hands dressed in red, orange and black. Carlotta’s stand did well during the influx of visitors, selling out of bread and cheese twice over. Mila ran back and forth from the cellar all day, and she and her mother were exhausted by the time the torches of Whiterun were lit and the crowds had shifted up to Jorrvaskr to listen to the Companions tell the tale of how their company came to be.

“Go,” Carlotta said with a weary smile when she caught her daughter looking longingly at the mead hall. “I will join you when I have finished closing.”  

Once the stall was locked and the remaining goods were stowed away, Carlotta climbed the stairs to the fires of Jorrvaskr and settled down near the back. Mila was sitting in front with the other children, wide-eyed as the ancient Harbinger wove the story of his predecessors in the sparks and the stars.

“And Kyrnil Long-Nose saw that this bloodshed was just, and his Companions howled alongside him in triumph,” Kodlak Whitemane called, as passionate in his retelling as if he had been there at the end of the Second Era. “They chose from among them the Circle, the guiding few of the Companions who lead us through the long nights and into the sun of tomorrow.”

“Hear, hear,” said the huntress Aela, raising a flagon into the air. The crowd followed suit, cheering at the conclusion of the story. Torvar raised his so enthusiastically that he tipped over his chair, and laughter filled the courtyard behind the mead hall.

Carlotta stared into the fire as the festivities carried on around her. She hoped the woman in her mind was doing the same, somewhere far away.

 

* * *

 

As autumn stole into Skyrim, so did Zari steal back into Whiterun. Carlotta was not aware the Dragonborn had returned until she caught sight of Lydia directing merchants and their apprentices to Breezehome, carrying all manner of furniture and goods.

In the Bannered Mare that night, Hulda confirmed that the Redguard warrior had returned.

“Went to see the Jarl, she did,” the innkeeper said while she scrubbed the counter in front of Carlotta. “Had themselves a right argument in the great hall, according to Gerda. Something about the Stormcloaks and the Legion, and picking sides.”

Carlotta paled. “Is she mad?”

Hulda shrugged. “With what Skyrim has offered her so far, I am surprised it took her this long to lose her senses. Perhaps she never had them.”

Carlotta sipped her ale in silence for the rest of the night, listening to the stories about a dragon in Kynesgrove and vampires in Hjaalmarch. She took the long way home, down to the main gate past Breezehome. A fire was burning inside, she could see through the dusty window. She did not knock.

 

* * *

 

Carlotta opened the door of her house after closing the next day to find Zari on her step, smiling wryly with a basket of flowers, mushrooms and herbs in her hands.

“A gift,” the Dragonborn said. “For your cellar or your stall.”

Carlotta crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “And what, may I ask, is the occasion?”

“A homecoming, if you will.”

The two women looked each other over. Zari appeared well, though Carlotta noted that she was not dressed for the colder weather. A number of golden bangles adorned her bare arms and neck, and her amulet of Julianos was settled between her dark, shapely breasts. A leather corset was cinched tightly over a yellow dress, and her boots were tall and fitted to her slender legs. A woman of the sun in the land of snow.

“Would it be too presumptuous of me to join you this evening?” the Dragonborn asked.

Carlotta smiled, then stood aside and held the door open. “Come. My daughter is finishing her studies for the afternoon.”

The other woman hesitated. She stepped nervously across the threshold and took in the sight of the little kitchen, in mild disarray from the fruits of the harvest.

“Mila!” Carlotta called up to the loft. “We’ve a visitor. How would you like to visit Lars this evening for supper?”

“Really, mama?” the girl called back. She poked her little head over the stairs, and her eyes widened at the sight of the Dragonborn. “But what about the potatoes?”

“I’ll finish counting and packing them away,” Carlotta reassured her. “Come down and greet our guest. Mind you straighten my bed covers before you do.”

Mila nodded and disappeared again. Carlotta cleared off a chair for Zari, who set her basket on it and warmed her hands by the fire.

“What studies do you assign her?” she asked.

“Arithmetic, at the moment,” Carlotta replied. “Figures and balances, for shopkeeping purposes as well as academic.”

Zari nodded. “Does she enjoy them?”

“Not always.” Carlotta rolled a log over into the embers with her iron poker. “Last week, she told me she was going to join the Companions when she grew up. Two days ago, she wanted to pledge herself to Stendarr and join the Vigilants. It varies, depending on who visits Whiterun.”

The sound of Mila’s footsteps descending from the loft stopped their conversation, and the little girl approached the kitchen shyly, hugging a book to her chest. “Thane,” she said with a solemn nod.

Zari returned the nod with a smile. “Hello, little one.”

Mila looked between the Redguard and her mother. Carlotta smiled and gave her a gesture of encouragement.

“Is it true?” the girl asked.

“Is what true?”

“Did you… did you really kill a dragon?”

Zari grinned. “It was not just me. But yes, I was there.”

Mila clutched her book tighter. “Was it hard?”

“One of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“Braith’s mother said it was like something out of the stories,” Mila said excitedly. “She said that somebody should write it down and turn it into a book.”

“Perhaps someone should.” Zari sat cross legged by the fire and patted a spot next to her. “Come, and I’ll tell you the tale of the one I felled in Kynesgrove.”

“That was you?” Carlotta asked, astonished.

Zari nodded. “Indeed.”

Mila sat and listened, spellbound, while the Redguard woman wove the story with her hands over the hearth. The climb through the snows, the dark-winged dragon which spoke to the burial mound on the crest of the hill, the dead dragon which climbed from its tomb and replied. Carlotta listened too, while she transferred potatoes to sacks and tied the loose ends with twine for storage, and she gasped when Zari described the fear she felt when the resurrected dragon spoke to her.

“You had words with this dark creature?” she asked.

“It had words for me,” Zari explained. “It called me arrogant, to take the name of Dovah, and scolded me for not knowing the language of the dragons.”

“But you _do_ know the language of the dragons,” Mila said, rocking back and forth in rapture. “Don’t you?”

Zari shook her head. “A few words. Their tongue is harsh, unforgiving, and to speak it leaves me weak even as it moves the earth.”

“Will you say something? Please?”

“Mila, that’s enough,” Carlotta warned. “Come, take this sack of potatoes to Alfhild and tell her that I would see you sup with her this night.”

Mila groaned in protest, but she rose and took the sack from her mother. “What are you going to do?”

“The Thane and I must speak of important matters,” Carlotta said with a wave of her hand. “Go now, little fairy. Give Clan Battle-Born my best. And if you hear anyone call Lars a ‘milk-drinker’ again, you tell me straight away when I come to get you.”

“Yes, mama.” Mila hugged her and made her way out the door, lugging the sack of potatoes behind her. Carlotta watched her go, and when the girl was welcomed into the grand house across the way, she sighed and latched the door.

“Another dragon,” she said wearily. “It would appear dark days have descended on Skyrim.”

“Dark days indeed.”

Carlotta sat down next to Zari. “What did you leave out?”

Zari frowned. “Leave out?”

“Come now. You left this city in search of a horn for the Greybeards in Morthal and returned with tales of a dragon over Kynesgrove.”

“There may have been a complication or two along the road,” Zari admitted. “The week was among the fullest I have known.”

“And now Hulda is telling stories of you questioning the Jarl’s allegiances,” Carlotta said, shaking her head. “Tell me that part is not true.”

“There is truth to it,” Zari said, shifting uncomfortably. “Though it was less a question of his allegiances and more a warning that the Jarl of Windhelm means to force his hand.”

She sighed heavily. “Following Kynesgrove, I went to sell the dragon’s scales in Windhelm. I agreed to do a shopkeep a favor and deliver a potion to the court wizard, where I overheard the Jarl and his second-in-command arguing about what should be done about Whiterun.”

“Stone-Fist,” Carlotta said bitterly. “Ulfric’s housecarl.”

“A bear of a man,” Zari said with a nod. “He appeared to be more on the side of killing Balgruuf and taking control of the city. Ulfric spoke of giving Whiterun more time, but I fear that patience may leave him sooner rather than later.”

“And you told Jarl Balgruuf this?”

“I did,” Zari replied bitterly. “He was not surprised. The Imperial Legion has pushed him to make a decision as well, and yet he would rather just sit in his keep and wait for one or the other to knock on his gates with an army before he makes a decision.”

“And which side would you have him choose?” Carlotta asked fiercely. “This war threatens to tear his hold apart already, even before its battles come to us. Clans Battle-Born and Gray-Mane are at each other’s throats in the streets, couriers bearing bribes knock daily on the doors of Jorrvaskr, and holds on every side of us covet the crops we are bringing in as the nights grow long. All it will take is one wrong word before the violence breaks out here, and neighbor will fight neighbor.”

“If the Jarl would rather not make a decision, then let him declare his intentions to do so,” Zari said quietly. “Neutrality is a stance in itself, perhaps even a strong one. But hiding in a mead hall waiting for other men to make the decisions is not.”

“Hmph,” Carlotta said, rising again to stoke the fire. “One trip to the Palace of Kings and you fancy yourself a politician.”

Zari smiled at that. “I became familiar with politicians long ago, mistress.”

“Another reason why I left Cyrodiil.” Carlotta grabbed a stack of wide baskets from a nearby shelf and set them down next to the basket Zari had brought. She began sifting through the contents, separating the mushrooms from the flowers and herbs. Zari joined her, and together they picked through the basket.

“And what of the Greybeards?” Carlotta asked finally. “Did you return their horn?”

“I did,” Zari said, examining a twisted, red root that Carlotta was not familiar with. “And they welcomed me as one of their own. Their leader invited me to stay at High Hrothgar, but I declined.”

She smiled playfully. “Far too cold for my tastes. And no women.”

Carlotta glanced at her and smirked. “How dreadful.”

She held up a spongy, white node and squeezed it experimentally. “What in Oblivion is this?”

Zari took it from her. “A swamp fungal pod. Brew it with canis root and imp stools and you have a poison that can halt a mammoth in its tracks, or mash it with snowberries and the egg of a pine thrush and you can walk in a lightning storm without fear.”

“Goodness.”

“It is also good in porridge with garlic,” Zari said fondly. “Morthal was full of these, along with deathbell and vampires.”

“Vampires?” Carlotta paused her sifting. “Hulda was telling me…”

Zari grinned. “About the nest that was rooted out from a cave in the swamps?”

Carlotta looked at her in disbelief. “If you are not careful, the bards in Solitude will write a song about you.”

“Tu’whacca take me before that happens.” Zari smoothed out her dress. “Killing vampires is a joy, compared to dragons. They turn to dust, you see. The dust is beyond useful for mixing invisibility potions, and it makes for a cleaner death.”

She took a step back and let the fire’s glow soak over her. “In truth, I think the previous owner did not appreciate this dress as much as I now do.”

Carlotta’s eyes widened. “You killed a vampire and took her dress?”

“Why let it go to waste?”

The idea of taking clothing from a freshly-dead person, even a vampire, put an odd feeling in Carlotta’s stomach, but she had to agree with the Redguard. The sight of her in the firelight was enough to stop her work, and the wicked smile growing in Zari’s amber eyes promised shared secrets and skin.

Still, Carlotta hesitated. Her visit to Breezehome had been a revelation in many ways, some of which she was not sure she wanted to revisit. She remembered the fire in Zari’s eyes when she had tried to return her touch, the forcefulness in her voice when she was ordered to cease and be still, the cool manner the woman had assumed once her intimate work was finished. It had left her aching, curious and wary.

The look on her face must have betrayed her thoughts, and Zari adopted a less inviting pose. “I hope I have given you no offense.”

“No, my Thane,” Carlotta assured her. “You merely set me to thought.”

Zari smiled. “Illuminate me, mistress.”

Carlotta picked up another mushroom. “I suppose I could begin with why you insist on calling me ‘mistress.’”

Zari’s expression darkened. She crossed her arms and looked at the floor. “I suppose it is a habit,” she replied. “From a past life.”

Carlotta cocked her head to the side. “A past life of mistresses and familiarity with politicians, and a future of dragons,” she mused. “Tell me, Dragonborn, what would a woman have to do to pry this past from you?”

Zari turned to stare into the fire. “My past is my own. Do not trouble yourself over it.”

The room grew quiet. Carlotta set aside the basket and joined the woman by the hearth. Once again, she felt the hum of energy emanating from the Redguard’s very bones, and she shivered as the feeling washed over her.

“My apologies for breathing life into what lies behind you,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I can help you to forget it again.”

Zari turned to look at her, and Carlotta held still as she reached up to touch her face. Fingers slid along her jawline, up to her ear and the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, savoring the gentle trailing of skin against hers.

Lips met hers with warmth to match that of the fire, and Carlotta lost herself in the tangle of Zari’s hair, the breath against her cheek and the burning embers of the other woman’s eyes. When Zari pressed into her, Carlotta pressed back, and together they stumbled toward the stairs up to the little loft that had been bereft of passion for some time.

“Gods, woman,” Zari said breathlessly as they broke apart briefly to tug pieces of clothing off of each other. “I feared I had scared you off, the last time we touched.”

“Clearly you were not trying hard enough,” Carlotta murmured, ferociously unlacing the other woman’s corset.

Zari leaned forward and sank her fingers into Carlotta’s hair, stilling her movements. “Do not tempt me.”

Carlotta laughed. “Consider yourself tempted.”

The fingers in her hair tightened, and Carlotta gasped, unable to move without inviting pain. Zari tilted her head back slowly, and she felt the Redguard’s teeth run against the curve of her throat.

“Undress yourself,” the Dragonborn ordered.

Carlotta shivered at the warmth against her neck, and she removed the rest of her clothes wordlessly. Step by step, Zari pushed her backward in the loft, until her legs brushed up against the edge of her own four-poster bed.

Zari released her hair and took a few steps back. “Kneel,” she said, indicating the bed.

Carlotta obeyed, lifting herself onto the heavy, green quilt. Her chest was tight and her breath came fast.

Slowly, Zari finished unlacing her own corset. She let the leather garment fall to the ground with a thump, then leaned down to leisurely remove each of her boots. One by one, her golden bracelets and necklaces clattered to the floor, and with a final twist of her crossed arms, the yellow dress and shift came away.

Carlotta gasped. The woman towered in the candlelight, her skin dark as the mountains on a misty morning and radiant as Skyforge steel. Zari stood confident in her nakedness, as if she was aware of the lithe lines of her body, the rounded peaks of her breasts and the shine of her eyes. She knew she was beautiful, and Carlotta could see it: But behind that, she could see that Zari was unafraid to use this power. Perhaps even familiar with using this power.

Zari took a step closer to Carlotta, until there was heat in the space between them. “Touch yourself,” she commanded.

Carlotta bit her lip and slid a hand along the inside of her own thigh. She was already wet, and soon her own fingers were slick as she trailed them over her throbbing entrance and aching clit. Zari watched her intently, lazily playing with one of her own nipples. Its dark bud rolled easily between her supple fingers, and Carlotta wet her lips at the sight.

Just as Carlotta felt she would burst from the anticipation, Zari stalked over to her and grabbed her hair again. She firmly kissed her, then pulled her to her breast and pressed it into Carlotta’s mouth. Carlotta ran her tongue gratefully over the skin there, circling the nipple and moaning as her fingers quickened between her own legs.

Zari hissed and pulled her to her other breast, and Carlotta applied her teeth gently at first, then in earnest. She was shaking, her knees wobbling against the mattress. There was an ember growing in her stomach, and she slowed her fingers when she felt it growing too warm, too soon. Every minute, every second with this woman was precious to her.

This, however, would not do for Zari. She pulled Carlotta’s head away when she felt her movements slow, and she looked down at her wickedly.

“So close already,” she whispered. “Would you like something to distract you?”

Carlotta nodded, and in an instant she was pushed backward into the quilt and Zari was straddling her. The Redguard eased her knees toward the pillow, inch by inch, until she was centered comfortably over Carlotta’s shoulders. As she lowered herself, Carlotta arched up and met the inside of her leg with a kiss.

Zari resumed playing with her own breasts, and Carlotta ran her tongue over and around the other woman’s dark folds. She worked out the pressure points that made Zari shiver and gasp, and when she straightened up out of her reach, she groaned with desire.

With a smirk, Zari rolled to the side and pulled Carlotta back to her. She settled against the pillows and directed Carlotta between her legs, pausing only to give her a lengthy kiss and taste herself on her partner’s mouth.

Carlotta abandoned her own clit and focused on Zari’s, pressing her thumbs into her thighs hungrily as she worked. When Zari arched her back beneath her tongue, she rejoiced, and when the Dragonborn cried out in a language she didn’t know, she slowed and withdrew with a trail of kisses down her leg.

Zari gave her no time to rest, and she soon found herself shoved face first into the pillow with the Redguard’s fingers inside her. She writhed and cried out as Zari pumped in and out of her with one hand while the other captured a breast and teasingly pinched her nipple.

“Come for me,” Zari ordered as she dragged a finger across Carlotta’s clit.

Carlotta obeyed. When her legs stilled and her body ceased shuddering, she splayed out across her bed and took in a deep breath.

Zari got up and crossed the room to her pile of clothes. Carlotta sat up and watched her.

“I should go,” Zari said over her shoulder.

“You should stay,” Carlotta said firmly.

Zari turned sharply as if to dispute the suggestion, but the sight of Carlotta spread over the green quilt softened her. Slowly, she padded over and climbed back into the bed.

Carlotta shifted to give her some more space. She hesitantly pulled Zari’s head in against her chest and stroked the dark locks atop it, twirling the curls around her fingers absentmindedly.

“You mean to live here,” she said. More a statement than a question.

Zari closed her eyes and nodded. “There are things I must do and things I seek to do beyond Whiterun, but yes. I mean to.”

Carlotta smiled. “And you wish to continue this?”

Zari looked up at her. “If that is what you wish.”

Carlotta said nothing, but there was no need. Between them, the wish was cast.


	5. Turdas, 4th of Hearthfire

Carlotta and Zari’s courtship settled comfortably into the world that week, like the pine needles that fell and covered the forest floors of Falkreath. The whispers and knowing smiles came quickly, when Zari greeted Carlotta on Tirdas with a familiar kiss on her cheek at the produce stand. 

“How do you fare this morn?” Zari asked, ignoring the gaping stares of Ysolda and Olfina Gray-Mane across the marketplace. 

“Well, my Thane,” Carlotta answered with a blushing smile. “Though I expect I will fare better, once those suspicious of your intentions toward me have come to call and seek the sordid details of our affair.” 

“Charge them double,” Zari suggested. 

Carlotta returned her kiss. Belethor’s apprentice, Sigurd, swung for his firewood chopping block and missed, his eyes wide at the two women. 

“Go,” Carlotta said with a giggle. “Before the other merchants find some way to accuse me of distracting their customers.” 

Zari shrugged and ascended the stairs to the Wind District. She had told Carlotta the night before of her intentions to visit Farengar Secret-Fire to purchase some spell books and discern the enchantment on a necklace she had discovered in Ustengrav, and Carlotta had raised an eyebrow at the idea. 

“The wizard is not fond of visitors,” she had warned, tracing the collarbone of the Redguard as she rested her head against her chest. 

“Only those who distract him with tasks he considers menial.” 

“Menial tasks keep the city safe, warm and fed.” 

Zari nodded. “Farengar strikes me as the type of man who would fail to notice if the city caught fire, unless a mage or a dragon was behind it. But there are none in Whiterun that can match his knowledge of magic.” 

“Perhaps you should go to the college in Winterhold,” Carlotta said, making a face. “If you seek to become a mage.” 

“And leave your bed?” Zari looked up at her with a wry smile. “Cast me not from your side, mistress.” 

Carlotta kissed the word out of her mouth, and the two had giggled and rolled and eventually given up on conversation for a little while longer. 

The memory of the Dragonborn’s tantalizing warmth distracted Carlotta during her day of harvest sales, though she waved aside questions from any and all about Zari’s kiss. Annoyance reached her, however, when Mila arrived at the stand at noon to report that her morning studies had been interrupted by a knock on the door from Brill, the Companions’ resident boot-licker. 

“He asked me if the new Thane was in,” Mila said. “I told him she came for supper, but she wasn’t there now.” 

“By Ysmir, we’ve only been…” Carlotta shook her head. “Never mind. Run along and play, and I will have words with Kodlak Whitemane himself if another Companion barks up the wrong tree.” 

Not an hour later, Zari descended the steps next to the produce stand, winded. Her Hammerfell-styled locks were in disarray and there was a long scratch on her right cheek. Blood ran down her dark skin freely. 

Carlotta gasped. “What trouble did you encounter in Dragonsreach?” 

“Not Dragonsreach,” Zari said, leaning heavily against the counter. “The Hall of the Dead. I sought a book from the priest, and he bade me lend him aid in return.” 

“What sort of aid?” 

Zari smiled and wiped some blood from her face. “A few of your ancestors did not like the idea of sleeping forevermore in the crypt, and so they arose. I merely sent them back to sleep.” 

“Not  _ my _ ancestors,” Carlotta said huffily, but she produced a handkerchief and dabbed the blood from Zari’s cheek and fingers. The Redguard submitted quietly to her attentions, a smile growing on her face. 

 

* * *

 

Carlotta and Mila visited Breezehome that evening, and Zari read to them aloud from her hard-won tome while they supped on chicken dumplings and cabbage potato soup. Lydia the housecarl sat idly by the fire, sharpening her daggers one by one and pretending not to listen, but Carlotta caught her movement slowing at the descriptions of battle brought to life by Zari’s rich voice. 

The tense confrontation between the long-dead Rangidil Ketil and Dagoth Thras was interrupted, however, by a knock at the cottage door. Lydia tossed aside her weapons and went to open it. 

“Ria,” she said in surprise, and stepped aside to let in the youngest member of the Companions. 

“Lydia,” Ria replied respectfully. She bowed slightly to the three at the table. “Mistresses Valentia. My Thane.” 

Carlotta smiled. Ria was one of the few Companions she considered a friend. The two women had bonded over ale when Ria had first come to Whiterun seeking glory three years ago, and they still shared the occasional drink at Hulda’s counter. 

“The Harbinger of the Companions bids you welcome to Whiterun, and has asked me to tell you that he has heard of your prowess in battle,” Ria continued, somewhat nervously. “He requests that you visit him in Jorrvaskr on the morrow, so that he may share wisdoms with the one they call Dovahkiin on this plane before he is called to Sovngarde.” 

Zari snapped her book shut. “Wisdoms, you say?” 

“It is a great honor to be summoned, my Thane,” Lydia said with a solemn nod. “Kodlak and his company bring fame and fortune to Whiterun Hold.” 

Zari cast a sideways glance at Carlotta, who nodded. 

“Very well,” the Redguard replied. “Tell your Harbinger that I shall pay him a visit in the morning.” 

Ria nodded, bowed and saw herself out. Lydia resumed her seat by the fire and eyed Zari, who appeared to be somewhat bothered by the invitation she had just accepted. 

“Shall we leave you in peace?” Carlotta asked. 

Zari sighed. “No, no,” she said, reaching out to reopen the book she had abandoned. “There is a story to be finished here, before the next is begun.” 

 

* * *

 

When Zari passed Carlotta’s produce stand in the morning, she had steel on her back and in her eyes. She gave only a brief nod to Carlotta as she moved through the marketplace, her focus elsewhere. After she had ascended the city stairs, Carlotta took Mila by the hand and bent down to her. 

“You remember what I’ve taught you,” she said firmly. “Count the coin twice, do not leave the stand unattended, and give Brenuin nothing unless he can pay.” 

Mila nodded solemnly. “Yes, mama.” 

“Good.” Carlotta straightened up and and dusted off her apron. “I’ll return as soon as I am able.” 

She hitched up her skirts and made her way up the stairs. She caught sight of Zari entering Jorrvaskr, and she milled around the ailing Gildergreen, half-listening to Heimskr’s ramblings for a few minutes before she made her way up to the ancient mead hall. 

At the entrance, she paused, unsure. The Harbinger wished the woman to join the Companions, that much was obvious. Having the Dragonborn among his company would be a feather in his cap and a deadly sword at his side. But would Zari accept? Would she storm through the main entrance in a fury, like her last visit to Dragonsreach? Or would she step confidently into the courtyard to join her new brothers and sisters in dismantling a sack of straw or a set of targets? 

Carlotta’s eyes alighted on the stone path up to the Skyforge. She smiled and followed it, the sounds of Eorlund Gray-Mane’s hammer ringing louder and louder with each stair she climbed. 

Eorlund grunted at her and paused his work, but she waved him off and took a seat on the rocks overlooking Jorrvaskr. She would wait and see what was decided. 

A few other citizens of Whiterun appeared to have had the same idea as her. Amren made his way up to the overlook, cursing his limp, and his daughter Braith scrambled up the stairs not long after.  Lillith Maiden-Loom came next, then Uthgerd the Unbroken, and soon there was a small crowd of people waiting and watching. Eorlund paused his work so as not to trip over the number of visitors, muttering to himself about “common courtesy.” 

“I hear she felled ten thralls and twice as many vampires in Morthal,” Uthgerd was saying to Amren. “And I’d believe it, after the skill she showed in the barrow.” 

“Perhaps she could retrieve my family sword,” Amren said thoughtfully. 

“Carlotta,” Uthgerd boomed. “If I were you, I would buy an amulet honoring Mara, and quickly, before someone else snatches up that woman.” 

Carlotta opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut short by the sound of the large, wooden doors of Jorrvaskr creaking open. The crowd rushed to peer over the rocks, in time to see the larger of the twins, Farkas, pushing the doors into the courtyard apart. 

Farkas’s brother, Vilkas, emerged next, and on his heels was Zari, her head down and her shoulders resolute. The rest of the Companions filed out to the courtyard, and Vilkas took up a stance of defense over on the cobblestones. 

“The old man said to have a look at you, so let’s do this,” the Nord’s voice rang over the silent watchers. “Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form.” 

Zari cocked her head at him, then glanced around at those assembled. “Is crossing blades your only form of entertainment around here?” 

“Gods willing,” called Vignar Gray-Mane, and the Companions laughed. 

Zari sighed and pulled her battleaxe from her back, its weight easy in her strong arms. She shifted her footing slightly, Carlotta noticed, but held the weapon steady. The Redguard’s eyes were fixed on Vilkas, and Carlotta shuddered at the thought of being paralyzed in their amber depths. It was one thing to behold her as a lover. It was quite another to be on the receiving end of this woman’s battle-stare. 

“Don’t worry, I can take it,” Vilkas assured her. Zari nodded curtly, then swung the axe up over her head and down in what looked like a catastrophic blow. The Nord held his stance until the last second, before dodging to one side. The axe glanced off of his shield, and gasps went up around the courtyard. 

“By the gods, she’s doing it,” Eorlund murmured next to Carlotta. 

Zari shook her head and swung again, sideways this time. Again, Vilkas caught it with his shield, though this one sent him staggering back a few paces as the force caught him. 

“Not bad,” he said breathlessly. “But the next time won’t be so easy.” 

Zari nodded and threw the axe back over her shoulder. “I hope I did not strain your arm.” 

Vilkas laughed. “Hardly. You might just make it, Dragonborn.” 

His expression hardened in an instant. “But for now, you’re still a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you.” 

Mocking jeers and barks went up from the Companions, who began to meander away from the scene. Carlotta could not see Zari’s face, but her back stiffened at Vilkas’s words. 

Vilkas drew his sword from its sheath and held it out to the woman. “Here. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it’s probably worth more than you are.” 

“Shor save him,” Uthgerd said on Carlotta’s other side with a sharp breath. “Is he mad? That woman could cleave him in two.” 

Indeed, it looked as if Zari was having the same thought. Just when Carlotta felt the woman was going to whip her weapon out again and teach Vilkas some manners, her shoulders sagged visibly and she reached out to take the sword. 

Amren chuckled. “Better clear out, before the Dragonborn realizes that display had witnesses.” 

 

* * *

 

Zari returned to Carlotta’s stand just before closing that evening, determination in her features. She accepted Carlotta’s invitation to supper, and helped her carry her baskets of potatoes back to the cellar. 

“How did you find the Companions?” Carlotta asked after she had descended into the cellar and stowed her basket away. 

“I suppose my feelings on that band of mercenaries is mixed,” Zari admitted. “The smith, Gray-Mane, I like well enough. And the tall beauty, Aela, seems agreeable. I care not for the twins, however.” 

“Why not?” 

Zari shook her head. “Farkas, well, he carries as much sense and learning in his head as the average giant. Though I imagine he hits as hard as a giant, in battle. And Vilkas…” 

She trailed off, and Carlotta did not press her. “What of the Harbinger?” she asked instead. 

Zari took Carlotta’s hand and pulled her up from the cellar. “He saw fit to ask me to join his company,” she said. “But he kept his thoughts on me well-hidden.” 

Carlotta could see that this bothered the Redguard. She dusted some dirt off of her apron and took Zari’s hands in hers. 

“Perhaps he is undecided,” she said. “You are too much to behold in one glance.” 

“An interesting idea,” Zari replied, snaking one of her hands around Carlotta’s waist and pulling her in against her chest. “How many glances would one need, to know me?” 

Carlotta smiled. “How many glances will you allow?” 

Zari bent her slender neck down to whisper her response in Carlotta’s ear. “One less than the number you seek,” she purred. “So as to keep you wanting.” 

Her teeth were at once sharp and gentle on the curve of her neck, and Carlotta’s knees weakened in the shadow of her lover. 

 

* * *

 

“You plan to leave again?” Carlotta asked over their supper of braided bread with honey. She tried to keep her voice level, but Zari’s eyes flickered up from the meal at the quiver of concern in her tone. 

“Farkas bid me prove myself in battle,” the Dragonborn replied, breaking off a piece of bread and turning it between her slender fingers. “There is a cave, to the northwest. Bandits call it home.” 

She reached out and put her hand over Carlotta’s. “It should not take me more than a day.” 

“Will Lydia ride with you?” Mila asked, wide-eyed. 

Zari smiled and resumed picking apart the bread. “My housecarl will stay behind this time. Now that Breezehome is filled, someone needs to guard it.” 

“I could guard it,” Mila said excitedly. “Honest. I could stand by the door all day and chase away anyone who comes too close.” 

“Then who would help your mother with the produce stand?” Zari asked with a laugh. 

“I can do both,” Mila protested. 

“Mila,” Carlotta said sternly. “Lydia is more than up to the task.” 

“I am sure she would welcome a visit from you,” Zari said, ruffling the girl’s hair. “And perhaps an apple or two.” 

“So you ride alone,” Carlotta said, turning back to the matter at hand. 

Zari shook her head. “There is a mercenary who has been causing trouble for Elrindir and Anoriath in their tavern. I hired her to give them some peace.” 

“The Dunmer?” Carlotta asked in surprise. “Jenassa?” 

“Indeed.” Zari took a swig of her ale. “She has resided in the Drunken Huntsman for some time, so they told me. She grows restless from lack of work. Worries their customers and scares away business.” 

“I warned Anoriath that she could not be trusted,” Carlotta replied, shaking her head. “She is a dangerous one.” 

“As am I,” Zari said with a nod. “All that matters is her blade is sharp and her fee is paid.” 

“Be that as it may, sleep with one eye open,” Carlotta advised. 

 

* * *

 

Turdas dawned cold and clear, and Zari bade Carlotta goodbye with a soft kiss on the cheek at her produce stand after purchasing a few potions from Arcadia’s shop. The little, glass bottles clinked together in the pouch on the Redguard’s hip, and Carlotta bit her lip at the sound. 

“Which of those concoctions will bring you home safe?” she asked. 

Zari smiled. “All of them, gods willing,” she replied. “Though I hope to save a few for my next excursion.”

Carlotta put her hands on her hips. “Your  _ next _ excursion? I believe you told me you wished to settle down.” 

“There is an Altmer in Windhelm who bid me retrieve an artifact for him, as he is too ill to seek it himself,” Zari said excitedly. “The legendary White Phial.” 

Her tone became more apologetic at the look on Carlotta’s face. “He is a fellow alchemist,” she explained. “I feel drawn to help him.” 

Carlotta sighed. “I said I would not tether you to this small town. If you feel you must go, then you must go.” 

She smiled and put a hand up to Zari’s cheek. “You are the Dragonborn. Much is expected of you, and I will not add to that burden.” 

Zari put her hand over Carlotta’s and held it there, along the dark curve of her jawline. “I thank you.” 

“Just…” Carlotta drew her thumb to the corner of Zari’s lip. “Come back.” 

“Set aside your fears,” Zari murmured. She pressed a kiss to Carlotta’s thumb, and then she was gone, her dark locks swaying with each step down the hill toward the main gate. 

 

* * *

 

Carlotta was still at her stand when Zari returned that afternoon with the haughty Jenassa at her side and a sack of goods on her shoulder. Immediately, she could tell that something was amiss. The Redguard’s shoulders sagged again, as they had on Middas when Vilkas had given her harsh words and a sword to sharpen. 

Zari gave her no more than a pained glance on her way through the marketplace, clearly focused on returning to Jorrvaskr to give the Companions the news. Carlotta dragged her feet as she closed up, and just as she had finished locking the stand, a familiar pair of boots made its way down the stairs next to her. 

Carlotta straightened up. “Dragonborn,” she said warmly. 

Zari did not meet her eyes. “Mistress.” 

“What is it?” Carlotta asked, wiping her hands on her apron. 

Zari sighed heavily and unshouldered the sack she carried. Carefully, she set it on the stand’s counter and unearthed a large, round object wrapped in cloth. 

“It seems I have been summoned,” she said, staring at the sphere. 

Carlotta moved to unwrap it, but Zari caught her hand before she could touch the object. “Let it be. I do not know what will happen if someone else comes into contact with it.” 

“Is it dangerous?” Carlotta asked nervously. 

“Of a sort.” Zari looked around the thinning crowd of the market. “Where is Mila?” 

“Anoriath took her hunting today,” Carlotta replied. “Just outside the city. They will return after dark.” 

Zari nodded and stowed the sphere in the sack again before grabbing a bushel basket of apples. “Come,” she said. “The story is best told in confidence.” 

 

* * *

 

Carlotta stoked the fire in her hearth and stared at the embers after Zari had related her tale of the bandits’ cave. She eyed the sack at Zari’s feet suspiciously, then gave the Redguard a faint nod. 

Zari took the wrapped sphere from the sack and slowly eased the cloth around it down. Bit by bit, she revealed a white orb, rough-hewn from crystal, no bigger than a small gourd. It hummed with energy, and where Zari’s fingers touched it, it glowed with an unearthly light. 

“Stendarr preserve us,” Carlotta breathed. She took a tentative step forward for a closer look. “Meridia spoke to you?” 

“Of a fashion,” Zari said quietly. “A voice of anger. She bid me go to her temple on Mount Kilkreath and cleanse it with this beacon.” 

“Cleanse it of what?” 

“I do not know,” Zari replied. “She merely called it ‘a darkness,’ and said I would destroy it for her.” 

Carlotta sat down and put her head in her hands. “You cannot refuse a Daedra.” 

Zari wrapped the sphere in cloth again and put it away. “I do not plan to,” she said. “I suppose I should be grateful I came across Meridia’s beacon, rather than Molag Bal’s.” 

Carlotta laughed hollowly. “Or Mehrunes Dagon’s.” 

They stared into the fire together, silent for a moment. 

“When do you leave?” Carlotta asked finally. 

Zari laced her fingers together and bowed her head. “Soon. I will take Jenassa the day after next and ride for Solitude.” 

She reached into her bag and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. “Tomorrow, though, I ask if you are willing to accompany me on an excursion.” 

Carlotta was taken aback. “Me? An excursion? Where?” 

Zari nodded and smoothed out the parchment to reveal a crudely-drawn map. Carlotta recognized the city of Whiterun and the roads leading to it, as well as the hills behind the Pelagia Farm in the south. A red “X” behind the mill was marked in the hillside. 

“The bandit chief hid his horde close to the city,” Zari explained. “I took this from him. I would have you come and search for it with me tomorrow.” 

“I…” Carlotta hesitated, and Zari reached out and took her hand. “Who will watch the stand?” 

“Mila can handle it for a few hours,” Zari suggested. Her voice was low and reassuring. “And Lydia can watch over her, if you are willing. I swear no harm will come to you or your daughter.” 

She drew her thumb in circles around Carlotta’s palm, sending a shiver down the Imperial woman’s back. “Please,” she whispered, her voice honey and flame. 

Against her better judgment, Carlotta nodded. She leaned in for a kiss, and she swore she could taste the sweetness on the Redguard’s lips. 

When they drew apart, Zari smiled. 

“I know you were watching me,” she murmured, folding up the parchment and putting it in a pouch at her side. “At Jorrvaskr.” 

Carlotta smiled shyly in return. “I wanted to see what you would choose,” she admitted. 

Zari regarded her, a wicked look beginning to creep into her eyes. “And do you agree with my choice?” 

Carlotta swallowed. She knew that look well. “It is none of my concern what decision you make,” she said carefully. “But I welcome any that keeps you coming back to my doorstep.” 

She stood and moved to put another log on the fire. Ashes and sparks fluttered up when she set it down, and a burst of warmth rose up against her face. 

Zari was at her back, then, and Carlotta sank against the other woman’s chest gratefully, familiarly. There was a hand at her waist, another at her neck, and she tilted her head back to look up at the beauty above her. 

Just as they sank into another kiss, the sound of quick footsteps outside interrupted them. They broke apart just as Mila flew through the door, her little face flushed and a rabbit in her hands. 

“Look, mama!” she cried excitedly, then stopped abruptly when she caught sight of Zari. “Oh… is the Thane staying for dinner again?” 

Carlotta looked at Zari questioningly. The Dragonborn bent down to examine the rabbit. “What is it you have caught, little one?” 

Mila held the carcass up proudly. “Anoriath and I went hunting. He shot three rabbits. I didn’t shoot any, but I came really close, so he gave me one for supper tonight.” 

“I’ll take that, little fairy.” Carlotta took the rabbit gingerly and set about searching for her knife. “We will eat well this evening, thanks to you.” 

“Can the Thane stay?” Mila begged. “I want to hear more stories about the vampires and the dragons.” 

“If she wishes.” 

Zari nodded and sat back down by the fire. “Come, Mila,” she said, patting the seat next to her. “And I will tell you about the time I played hide-and-seek with a ghost.” 


	6. Fredas, 5th of Hearthfire

The morning brought rain. Carlotta stood in her doorway for a minute, watching it fall and shatter into puddles against the flagstones outside, before turning back to her warm hearth and her daughter, halfway through a bowl of porridge.

“The stall can wait,” she said with a sigh. “Even if I were to stay in the city, we would be miserable outside in this. Provided the Thane is agreeable, Lydia will watch over you today.”

“I want to go treasure hunting, too,” Mila whined.

“Hush, little fairy,” Carlotta chided. “We may not go at all, if this keeps up.”

Secretly, however, Carlotta doubted that even the breath of Kyne could keep the Dragonborn home, if she wished to be elsewhere. She dressed warmly, in leather traveling boots, fur-lined leggings, and a thick cloak trimmed with rabbit fur over a heavy tunic.

There was a knock at the door at the expected time, and Carlotta answered it. Zari looked radiant even in the rain, her tall form covered in leather armor under a red, fox-fur cloak. Lydia looked miserable next to her, the rain pinging off her ever-present steel armor.

“Come in,” Carlotta offered, standing aside. Zari entered, but Lydia declined, instead beckoning Mila to join her.

“With me, little one,” she explained. “Best hurry, lest we catch cold.”

“I trust you will not be opening your stand in this,” Zari murmured, patting Mila’s head gently.

Carlotta shook her head. “I would have my daughter stay dry.”

“Then would you consent to her accompanying my housecarl on an errand to the Jarl’s hall?”

“The _Jarl,”_ Mila said, her eyes sparkling in wonder. She looked up at Carlotta. “Should I put on my best dress, mama?”

Carlotta crouched down and tightened the scarf around her daughter’s neck. “Not in this rain. Be on your best behavior, or I’ll hear from Fianna and Gerda and we’ll be in trouble with the steward.”

Mila nodded solemnly and skipped out after Lydia. They set off purposefully toward the stairs up to Dragonsreach.

Carlotta watched them go before turning back to the Redguard in her kitchen. “Do you think Lydia will be able to handle her?” she asked, half in jest, half concerned.

“I’ve seen Lydia handle a frost troll,” Zari replied.

Carlotta smiled. “Children can be trolls in their own right.”

Zari produced a vial from inside her cloak and held it up between them. “Before we depart, you should have a taste of this.”

Carlotta took the glass tube and looked at it suspiciously. The contents within were a reddish-tan color, somewhat roughly chopped and mixed with a viscous liquid. “What is it?”

“Fly amanita, mora tapinella and scaly pholiota,” Zari said, the names of the mushrooms rolling off her tongue like those of old friends. “Mashed with honey, for a sweeter taste. It will keep a fire in our bones today.”

Cautiously, Carlotta uncorked the vial and sniffed. It smelled mostly of honey, though the mustiness of the fungi was poking through.

“Allow me,” Zari said, stepping closer. She took the vial back and tilted it over Carlotta’s right hand, allowing a few, thick drops to spill out onto her palm. It was warm on her skin, like the hesitant sunlight of an early day in spring.

Carlotta brought it up to her lips, and Zari watched as she tasted it. For once, the Dragonborn’s eyes were a touch less confident, as if searching for approval or criticism.

“It tastes of Second Seed,” Carlotta said. “Before Second Planting, when the soil is being tilled.”

Zari smiled. She re-corked the vial and stowed it away. “For a more potent mix, one is supposed to grind honey bees in with the mushrooms. I find the honey to be more palatable.”

Even as the sweetness lingered in her mouth, Carlotta began to feel the fire Zari had described, spreading through her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and the caps of her knees. Suddenly, the rain outside did not seem so daunting.

“Are you ready?” Zari asked. “We’ve not far to go, but the way is sure to be muddy.”

 

* * *

 

The road leading south from Whiterun was indeed full of mud and rainwater, and the two women picked their way around the puddles carefully. They stopped briefly at the stables to borrow a shovel, and Zari introduced Carlotta to Queen Alfsigr.

“Is she a good mount?” Carlotta asked, stroking the horse’s velvety nose. The mare’s winter coat was coming in, making her already-rugged appearance even shaggier.

Queen Alfsigr blew air through her nostrils and shook her head. Zari shushed her with a playful grin. “Of course she is. Any horse that can carry my axe and armor without complaint is a good steed, and her legs are as thick as a giant’s.”

“A pity I didn’t bring any apples,” Carlotta remarked.

They continued on when there was a lull in the rainfall, further south to the farm owned by Severio Pelagia. No one was outside to see their approach, and Carlotta and Zari passed through to the right of the windmill without pausing.

Once through Severio’s now-empty wheat field, Zari veered southeast toward a copse of spruce trees. Sheltering momentarily under a sodden bough, she pulled out the hand-drawn map she had shown Carlotta the day before to study it.

“The mark puts the treasure up there,” she said with a frown, swinging around to point up the side of the mountain to the south. “But taking the straight path to the southwest is too steep. We’ll have to go around.”

Carlotta nodded. “Lead the way.”

They walked in silence through the trees, which began to sway slightly the further up the hillside they moved. In time, the rain grew cold and turned to snow flurries. Carlotta drew her cloak in closer around herself and pulled on a pair of mittens she had hung from her belt, more out of habit than necessity. The concoction Zari had given her earlier was burning its way through her, and her skin was warm to the touch despite the gentle breeze.

Zari did not seem to be bothered by the cold. Shovel resting on her shoulder, she trudged resolutely on, taking care to step on solid ground and find a safe path for the merchant woman following her. Carlotta wondered if the Redguard secretly had Nord ancestry, or if she took her mixture of mushrooms regularly to counteract the Skyrim chill that so often bothered the people from the sands of the Alik’r Desert.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Zari came to a sudden halt, flinging an arm out behind her to stop Carlotta’s advance. “Listen.”

Carlotta listened, and shivered. Through the breeze came a high-pitched whine, followed by a few barks and yips.

“Stay still,” Zari ordered. Her hand gripped Carlotta’s shoulder.

Through the trees ahead trotted three wolves, padding confidently through the gathering snow. They were massive, much larger than most dogs Carlotta had seen in her lifetime. The largest of the three was black, with great, yellow eyes and tan markings around its neck and hindquarters, while the other two were gray-furred and sly-looking. Their noses were in the wind, searching for quarry. Carlotta realized with a jolt that they were likely searching for them.

Zari was whispering something repeatedly, kneading Carlotta’s shoulder with her thumb as she muttered. Carlotta tried to make out the words, but they didn’t make any sense to her. Around them the air began to shimmer, and the blowing snow bent around it, flowing in an unnatural pattern of swirls and spirals.

Suddenly, the shining barrier of flying snow exploded outward, away from them, and sped off in all directions. When it reached the wolves, they yipped in surprise and ran, chasing off into the trees to the east with their tails between their legs.

Carlotta remained frozen. Zari let go of her and put down the shovel, leaning on it as if it were a walking stick. “That should keep them away for some time.”

“Sorcery,” Carlotta whispered. She stared at Zari. “What did you do?”

“Set a fear in them,” Zari said, breathing heavily. “Though I did not expect it to work so strongly. Thank you, for that.”

“What in Stendarr’s name do you have me to thank for?”

Zari smiled. “The potion I gave you. It has a secondary effect, to strengthen illusory powers. For those who cannot or do not use such abilities, they can become a repository of magical power that others may draw on.”

Carlotta’s hand went to her shoulder, where Zari had clutched her. “You used me.”

Zari’s eyes widened at the hurt in Carlotta’s voice. “I meant no offense. There was little time to do more than act.”

“Is that why I am here? To collect and divert magicka for your own uses?” Carlotta shook her head. “Bring Lydia, next time. I will have no part in such things.”

Zari let the shovel fall and moved to stand directly in front of Carlotta. She gently took Carlotta’s hands in hers and brought them up between them.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have asked.”

“Yes. You should have.”

“Let me make it up to you, mistress.”

Carlotta furrowed her brow. “And how do you intend to do that?”

Zari turned away but kept one of Carlotta’s hands in hers. For once, Carlotta felt as though the heat in her own hands matched that of the Redguard’s, and she allowed herself to be led further up the mountainside.

The trees thinned around them, and rocks began to jut forth from the grass and gathering snow. They were sharp against Carlotta’s leather boots, and Zari’s steady arm kept her from slipping more than a few times as the path steepened. They emerged against the open sky after passing through a ravine lined by two ancient boulders, and Carlotta gasped to see the hold spread out below them.

Snow obscured most of Whiterun, but the fires in the guards’ braziers and in the windows of the city were unmistakable. The Pelagia windmill was turning slowly now, and the reaching grandeur of the Jarl’s palace stood out against the white canvas of the northern mountains, every bit as proud and historied as one of them.

Zari let go of Carlotta’s hand to lean against a nearby tree and smiled. “This view is new to you?”

Carlotta nodded, failing to find the words for the beauty below. She turned, finally, to thank Zari for thinking of her, bringing her alone here to see it, and found the woman of Hammerfell with her head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes closed as the snow drifted down against her cheeks. Out of place in her surroundings, yes, but inexplicably, unapologetically and completely _free._

In that moment, Carlotta dared to think she saw what Meridia might have, why the Lady of Infinite Energies chose to speak to a mortal and demand her as champion. And when Zari opened her eyes again and met hers, the fire in her blood blew into a ravenous inferno.

“Are you ready?” Zari asked, gesturing back toward their path.

“Yes.”

Zari cocked her head to the side, having caught the longing in Carlotta’s voice. “Mistress.”

Carlotta shook her head. “You know my name, Dragonborn.”

“And you know mine.” Zari stepped forward, unlaced the front of her fox-fur cloak and wrapped the two of them inside it. “Though you look as though you would know more, given the chance.”

Carlotta looked up at her and batted her eyelashes. “Would that be so wrong? To know you?”

Zari took Carlotta’s chin in her hand and tilted it further up, then side to side slightly, examining every freckle on her skin, the flush of her cheeks. Carlotta let her, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin, their faces cold in the air on the mountain.

“Knowledge of my story will only bring you pain,” Zari said quietly, sliding her hand back to push an escaped lock of hair behind Carlotta’s ear.

“Your past is yours,” Carlotta murmured, repeating what the Dragonborn had told her the first night they shared a bed. “I would have you now, and the knowledge of your future.”

“You have it.”

Carlotta raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Have I? The skills of a mage, the eye of a Daedric Prince, the skills and strength of a warrior… a woman like you keeps secrets.”

Zari’s face sobered. “For good reason.”

“And yet you did not keep _me_ a secret,” Carlotta countered. “All of Whiterun knows you and I share more than kind words, now. I only ask that you tell me what dangers you face in your road ahead. What dangers may follow you home, and may one day come to my doorstep.”

“None,” Zari said with certainty. “I would not allow harm to come to you or your little one.”

“You cannot be sure.” Carlotta put her arms around Zari’s waist. “This world is wide, and its threats numerous. I would know, more than most.”

“As would I.” Zari smiled down at her reassuringly. “Trust me, mistress. You are safe, and shall remain so.”

Carlotta sighed. “Promise me that when you return from Solitude, we will speak of this again.”

Zari kissed her forehead. “I promise. Let’s continue.”

 

* * *

 

A particularly jagged outcropping of rock marked the spot of the bandit leader’s horde, and Carlotta was relieved to discover that the lazy owner had merely hidden the chest within some nearby bushes, rather than buried it in the frozen earth. Zari smashed the lock easily, and pried it open to reveal the treasures within.

By Zari’s expression, Carlotta could tell that she was disappointed in the meager offering of riches within. The Dragonborn untied a bag of coins to count how many it held, while Carlotta sifted through the rest of the contents. There were a few ingots of iron and steel, three violet crystals similar to those Carlotta had seen Farengar Secret-Fire use in his rituals, and a scattering of loose septims. At the bottom of the little chest lay a necklace, which Carlotta carefully lifted into the light.

“Gold,” she said, admiring the crafted chain and carved bauble attached. “I don’t recognize the marks. It could be foreign-made.”

“Here,” Zari said, handing Carlotta a gemstone the color of blood before scooping the loose coins into the bag she was holding. “Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one. A poor fortune for a bandit chief.”

Carlotta examined the jewel with interest. “It’s flawed, but should still fetch a fine price. Maybe a hundred septims, if you catch Belethor in a good mood.”

“Let us hope you do, in that case,” Zari grunted. She pulled out a sack and began putting ingots inside it.  

Carlotta’s eyes widened. “You’re… you’re giving this to me?”

“And the necklace.” Zari tossed an iron ingot in her bag, then blew warm air onto her fingers. “They suit you.”

“But I… you…” Carlotta stammered. “I couldn’t. This chest is yours, _you_ defeated the bandits.”

Zari smiled. “And I choose to give the contents to whom I wish. Take them, as amends for my earlier transgression.”

Carlotta eyed her suspiciously. “Do not think you can appease my displeasure at including me in your magic with gifts of finery, Dragonborn.”

“Of course not, mistress.” Zari’s grin widened. “Perhaps I can appease you in some other way, when we return to the city?”

 

* * *

 

The return trip down to Whiterun was rocky and slow, and Carlotta was exhausted by the time she and Zari trudged back through the gates. The Dragonborn traded her hard-won ingots to Adrianne Avenicci for another handful of coins, and held the door to Breezehome open for the tired woman on her heels.

“Sit,” she ordered, pulling a stool up to the kitchen hearth just inside. Carlotta sank onto it gladly, and Zari set about gathering ingredients and food from the shelves around them. Bread, honey and a small, salted fish were thrust into Carlotta’s hands. She ate them without question, and the aches in her knees and back were eased.

Zari shed her fox furs and sat down on a stool next to her. “Better?”

Carlotta nodded and shared her bread and honey with the Redguard. “Better.”

They sat and nibbled on the food together in silence. Carlotta’s boots had nearly dried by the time Zari asked, “Should we go find Lydia and your daughter?”

Carlotta answered by pulling Zari in for a kiss, long and sweet. “In a minute.”

Zari’s hands found her hair, in return, then her shoulders, her waist. Carlotta found herself lifted off the stool, and she wrapped her legs around Zari as the Dragonborn carried her upstairs to bed.

Their coupling this time was sweet, even familiar. The furs on Zari’s bed were warm against Carlotta’s bare skin, and the Thane’s tongue was hot between her legs. They twisted up together into shapes that left both of them shaking and moaning, fingers slick and skin shivering. Zari’s teeth on her shoulder felt like a song she had heard before, and her nails on her back like the soft call of the rain on the roof overhead.

When Carlotta came, Zari kissed her own name from her lips, and when they finally rolled apart to dress themselves again, Carlotta realized that the Redguard had not given her a single order while they were in bed. To her surprise, she discovered that she missed the orders. Even craved them.


End file.
